


Trust

by Dreamyromcomangstlover



Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I know this ain’t gonna happen, I mean the idea itself is kinda possible, James is upset, King George is our king, More like my take on 3x12 though, Probably lots of injures, Some Deaths, Teresa might be a bit OOC, and hurt, anyway, but my take on 3x11, need more James George bromance, please don’t kill that cinnamon roll, though I tried to keep it at bay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:11:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamyromcomangstlover/pseuds/Dreamyromcomangstlover
Summary: I find him in one of the cells outside the main building. Good. Not only my source was right but it’s also the furthest thing from prison I’ve got to break in. I get closer to his cell, sticking to shadows. Two guards are down but there are still at least three of Cortez men on the perimeter.-George? - I whisper to him, trying to wake him up.—————Huge fight and implications that he might be mole lead James to close up and get out for some time...or maybe forever. Except his “getting out” means going to Sinaloa, which is torn apart by civil war and stealing the man held captive by the general himself, king George.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Those are some thoughts I've been having lately. English is not my first language, sorry if I made some errors! Hope you’ll enjoy!

James’ POV

I find him in one of the cells outside the main building. Good. Not only my source was right but it’s also the furthest thing from prison I’ve got to break in. I get closer to his cell, sticking to shadows. Two guards are down but there are still at least three of Cortez men on the perimeter.  
-George? - I whisper to him, trying to wake him up.  
-James? - he whispers back from the shadows, feels like he is standing right in front of me. It’s weird hearing him calling me by my name, and his voice sounds kind of broken. I wonder what Cortez might have done to break someone like George while fidgeting with the lock. Seconds later I hear the soft click and wasting no time pulling George from the cell.  
-hey, hey, hey! James Bond! I ain’t leaving without Belal! - he’s pushing me backwards a little bit but still not causing to much fuss to which I’m thankful.  
-he’s here? Where?  
5 minutes later I see something that gives me actual chills for the first time in a very very long time. George doesn’t say anything, he just hugs him, and takes his hand leading the way out. the man that used to be the head of the brutal pirates crew keeps quiet, staring into nothing, but giving his obvious condition, I know we have to be prepared for the worst. I give George a gun and lead them to my car.  
We almost make it to the gates when Belal starts to howl and weep. We almost make it to the car when the bullet hits his head and I hear George’s howl.  
We jump in the car and drive in silence for about an hour, I see the tears in George’s face and suddenly I see what Teresa saw in him since the day one. I put my hand on his shoulder giving it a squeeze of reassurance and support. Stopping in the deserted area we dig a grave for Belal and I give George some time alone with his family. 

-So, how’s my Supergirl? She’s here? - after half a bottle of whiskey and some painfully honest conversation about the possibility that maybe...maybe death was better for Belal than life like this, George seems to regain some of his trademark qualities, which before made me want to punch him in the face...hard, but now actually eased up some of my tension.  
-she’s in Phoenix, handling problems with El Santo. We are leaving tomorrow morning...-well, as soon as I get rid of the hangover I’m about to get from all whiskey and going crazy over deciding whether or not I’m actually staying in Phoenix after everything that happened between us.  
-nah,nah,nah, hold on, pretty boy! ‘S not that I’m ungrateful for saving my ass from a crackhouse, but I ain’t leaving Mexico ‘til I get a date with General Cortez, - he’s stands up from his chair and comes to the window where I stand.  
-I’ll give you the number of my minion to help out Teresa, but I ain’t going back, - I might say that I’m doing that because I don’t want to go back yet, to face not a war but a pain of disrespect and lack of trust, along with ongoing questions about her feelings and possibilities of anything else, and it will be true. Partly. But Belal’s absent face and George’s tears stuck in my head and made my choice even easier.  
-Tell that to her, she might need it while we’re away - I give him my phone, - I’m here to get you back, not your ships.  
-awww, Jamesy, are you wooing me right now? Saying such heartfelt words, staying with me and not running to your Juliet, sharing a cheep motel room with me... trouble in paradise? - aaand he’s back. But this time, probably due to the alcohol in his system he actually seems curious and less annoyingly immature.  
-Just call her, it’s been almost 6 hours, - surprisingly he doesn’t say anything, just nods and presses a phone to his ear, one second, and...  
-James? - I almost hear worry in her voice but quickly drown those thoughts with the gulp of whiskey.  
-Better, m’lady, - George sings, obviously trying to calm her down, - sorry, your boyfriend and I are extending our Mexican getaway. We are going to war, ma queen.


	2. Chapter 2

Teresa POV  
Couple of days ago  
Hey, girl, sorry to interrupt, - Lil’ T appeared in the doorway still bruised and, obviously, still in pain, but eager to go back to work as soon as possible, since this mole situation got everyone alert, and she couldn’t just stay out of it, even if it meant finishing her treatment way too early, which was something I was not approving but too tired to argue with - James’s just come back , and you said... - an awkward pause caused by mutual all too fresh memory from three days before gave me unexpected strength and energy to stand up, taking my phone and closing a laptop in the process and leave the office before Lil’T find right words to sugar-coat all the catastrophe that has been happening these days. Or maybe it’s him finally appearing in the same place at the same time with me in almost three days did that to my exhausted, weakened by nightmares and lack of appetite body.   
I find him with Pote and Kelly Anne in the kitchen, he looks like he’s making a breakfast , but we all perfectly understand what exactly he has been doing. It’s not like he really needs breakfast at 4 pm. It’s not like he’ll be doing anything but drinking a strong burning hot coffee along with a cigarette from the box laying on the counter beside him. It’s about desperately trying to avoid people he has been avoiding for 68 hours for at least a little bit longer. Both drowning tension and complete silence makes everything even more insufferable. To say nothing about the all-consuming guilt clenching at my throat and making it harder to breath and function properly. I see almost the same reaction from Kelly Anne, whose uneasy struggle with blossoming addiction has been severely complicated by the fight that affected each member of our family. That’s not the place and atmosphere to fight addiction. As if the guilt of even assuming and implying that James has been nothing but loyal to us... to me, wasn’t all consuming and awful enough the thought of Kelly Anne sufferings and me not being able to even listen to her properly being too deep in my own problems surely was adding extra weight on my chest.   
We all just stay and sit there, James is the only one who’s moving around and making any noise. No one says anything, ghosts of words said couple of days ago still hanging between us. It’s not like we haven’t talked afterwards... we did... sort of.. words has been passing, we communicated. And we still worked together. He was still as loyal, brave and overprotective as only he can be. Which made my guilt even more excruciating. “How can we ever doubt him?” Unusual words that came out of Pote’s mouth the first night after the fight kept on repeating in my head. How can I ever doubt him? After everything we’ve been through? After everything he made me feel? Right after he brought me back to life? Those questions kept on haunting me and together with my embarrassment, guilt, and pain for him somehow closed me up completely. I couldn’t say anything. To anyone. I just can’t open up anymore. Even to Pote. I can’t say how I feel because words cannot explain this. Though they understand what I’m going through, that must be why they are tiptoeing around me, thinking I don’t notice. I don’t mind that reaction at all. But it keeps getting worse. I keep getting worse. Right after the fight. Right after he brought the beaten and half alive Charger and right away went to Ivan to start digging for Devon. Right after I said nothing when he did that. When he fixed everything, saved everyone and I just nodded. Because there was nothing else. No words, no actions. I couldn’t even look at him. I knew this all consuming pain would swallow me the moment I look at him. And I would just cave. And I needed to stand, stay strong, fight for my business and keep everyone alive. Maybe problems with Devon and the rat could be considered fixed, but problems with El Santo,Taza, George disappearance and Phoenix’ control with no product were still pretty much present. And those problems needed to be fixed. By me. And through pain, nightmares and panic attacks I was still breathing. And first I needed to have more or less solid ground beneath before I’d be able to talk to him, to say something, to try to explain, to try to open up, to beg for forgiveness. I still don’t know what to say. What words can possibly make him look at me remotely the way he used to look at me. Because keeping on demanding his loyalty and respect, I betrayed him and shook the very foundation of whatever we have been building between us. I betrayed him because I was too certain that whatever we were having was too good to be true in the world that had been giving nothing but pain, death, and blood of my loved ones since I was 10. But I know it is an excuse with a very high price to pay. If something happens... and I get to say nothing. This will be the day I won’t recover from.   
Now I understand fully his reasoning behind trapping me in the cellar. I start wondering whether I can get him locked somewhere safe until I fix at least anything. Because he is reckless, and he still overprotective, and now Pote’s “he will die for you” sound more like a promise than a character trait, and the mere thought about it makes me lose any touch with the reality. His back straightens a little bit, he takes a shallow breath and finally,silence breaks at the sound of his deep tired voice.   
\- I got an intel about George. He’s in Sinaloa. Cortez has him, I’m leaving in an hour- I feel like I’m once again in that muddy shallow grave in Bolivia, drowning in water, submerged by the rain, and now not the portion makes my blood run cold. It’s a rise of a panic attack. I feel it’s getting closer. It’s getting harder to breath. One more person I care about and consider family is in danger, might even be dead, protecting me, and another one is going to the state where capturing him means getting Teresa Mendoza.   
\- No, - I hear my trembling voice muffled by white noise and heart pounding in my ears. That’s when he finally turns around and everybody still and don’t even breath. Before he can say what I read by his expression as “You still don’t trust me?” I continue, using all of my strength  
\- It’s too dangerous. We will hire someone, we will make a deal with Boaz, you’re not going to Mexico.  
\- It’s not a distribution pause, it might be a full stop. You should find another supplier in case El Santo won’t be back. Money will be short. It’s not the time to buy a strike team or pay Boaz. It’s unwise, - his voice is absolutely calm and business-like. No “we”, no “us”. A soldier, a killer with no sight of a broken and betrayed man whose image will be forever engraved in my memory from that night.   
\- Unwise to go to a suicidal mission alone, cabron, - Pote finally speaks up, looking directly at James and getting my hand in his on the kitchen isle, sensing my fear and panic.   
\- You need George, you need him no matter what supplier you’ll be working with next, - repeated “you”, cut like a knife and “suicidal mission” rings in my ears. He wants an out. He leaves for possible death and then he will leave. He will leave anyway.   
\- You’re getting out? - Kelly Anne speaks everyone’s concern  
\- I... I don’t know yet, - he answers and our eyes finally meet. It’s mere seconds before I close mine and turn the wet cheek away from peering eyes. He got me cornered. He’s being reckless closed up, he doesn’t feel support and trust, he thinks he’s not loved or trusted, and I can’t anything to change it, not now. All I want is to say “no”, to trick him into a trap and lock him up, to blackmail him, to actually forbid him. And before I would have thought those were Camila’s traits I started developing, not listening, ordering, having it my way, but right now it’s different. It’s the part we share with James: protecting the loved ones even by pushing them away. I want to keep him out of the harms way,I need to keep him safe, but I can’t do that because I need to try to get his trust back. To do so, I need to trust him on this, I need to let him go. Even if it kills me to say and do so and even if it results in my own undoing.   
\- Okay. Get George and both come back here immediately. Call every 6 hours. Then...if you want to... you are free to leave - I try to sound calm and trusting, but Pote squeezing my hand a little bit harder makes me realize that I’m shaking. James shortly nods and quickly leaves the kitchen. I get lost in the whirl of random thoughts and images fulled by the fear of losing more people I care about and don’t notice when the kitchen gets empty.  
-Teresita... - Pote puts a hand on my shoulder as soon as we were left alone. The sound of his voice brings back the haunting "He will die for you", I turn tearful eyes on him and just whisper:  
-What choice do I have, Pote? If I don't let him go, he'll think I don't trust him, and I just can't... I can't do that again. I have to let him do that... It's George, Pote, and we can't...   
-no, Teresita, we can't. He might be a lunatic, but he is a family. You're doing everything right, James can do this, now Sinaloa is looking for Camila, cabron Cortez is too preoccupied with this and his new power, George is not his concern for now. James will do that, and he'll bring George back - saying that he was massaging my arms and then he stood up, looked in my eyes and said soothingly engraving those words on my mind:  
-and he won't leave. He just needs time, - he turns to leave and sudden idea crosses my mind:  
-Pote, - he stops but doesn't turn around, feeling that whatever I'm about to say, get out easier when nobody's watching  
-The image of the Saint you gave me before Bolivia... Can I - he turns slowly nodding and saying:  
-You should.  
It's when I took the warm shower I hear Kelly Ann's voice outside the door.   
-Teresa, James is leaving, - my heart clinches but Pote's words from earlier calm me down a little bit. I took the saint's image and follow Kelly Ann downstairs.   
We find him, Pote and Lil'T along with couple of Taza guys in the garage. Pote is fidgeting a little bit, but I'm sure I'm the only who notice his worry. James puts his bag in the front seat of Taza's car and turns to us. Suddenly I feel weak all over my body, it feels like all the energy has left it and I fear I might fall. Time to say goodbye. Kelly Ann eases the tension by throwing herself in James's arms and kissing his cheek saying "Be careful" . Everyone smirks at James' reaction and I know that this is a first step in the right direction, because I hear James' quite "you too", and I know if there's one person who can do impossible and come back from all the hell safe and sound, it's James. And he will come back. Then it's Lil'T turn, she just shakes his hand and smiles. And now it's only Pote and I left. Those who doubted him the most, those who hurt him the most. Pote knows I need a little more time, so he swears quietly and much to everyone's surprise hugs James, whispering something in his ear and then loud enough so everybody hear:"And bring that clown back". James nods turns a little bit to his left where I stand. His shoulders tense but in his eyes I can almost see old James, our James. Maybe I was right that I can't fix it. But maybe I was wrong, putting it all on myself. I can't do that myself, but we can try to do that together. As a family. I sign and rise a hand with the image putting it in the chest pocket of his jacket and trying to avoid his perplexed gaze. Involuntary I rest my hand on the pocket where I put the image trying to feel his steady heartbeat through his leather jacket and a thin Henley underneath. I feel him taking a deep breath and I lift my eyes up on him. And words are forming by themselves, I understand their meaning only hearing them.   
-Come back to us, - I whisper his own words and feel my eyes start to water. I notice how his hand jerks but he stops himself from touching me and instead gives me a short nod, still maintaining the eye contact. And for the first time in days I'm not scared looking in his eyes, because I see the glimpse of hope, glimpse of a promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and, hopefully, enjoying!  
> Today is the day of the 3x11,hope it will bring us something REALLY good, while giving you some angst... but like good angst, you know?
> 
> Sending love to our great fandom!

POV Teresa 

It comes in waves. Relief when I see his name on the screen I was staring at for the last half an hour. Panic when I hear George instead of him. Relief when George mentions "my boyfriend". Pain when I realise that he simply doesn't want to talk to me. Relief that they are alive and well. And then, when everything seems to be going well, the final strike hits. Panic. They are not coming back.  
I try to reason with George, try to get them back with the solid promise to go back all together and make Cortez pay, but just a little bit later. After problems with El Santo are settled down. After I get a chance to have at least 4 hours of sleep without cries and nightmares and take a normal deep breath. After I see him. But George is standing his ground. When he tells me about Belal my heart clenches. Even if I didn't know how important was Belal to him, I would have understood it in the way his voice trembles when he tells me what happened,his voice is deadly serious.  
"They say beware of the calm men's rage, but I say beware when the funny one turns serious. There's no stopping it now." Queen appears in the chair on the opposite side of my desk. I want to argue but she seems to be reading my mind, which is not surprising at all, considering she is, in fact, my mind. "Wise warrior finishes its own fight before engaging into somebody else's. Otherwise she puts herself and those she tries to protect in the crossfire. He knows you’ll handle everything here by yourself, he trusts you, no matter what, and now you need to trust him to fix everything there" she talks together with rambling George on the other side of the phone. I know she's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. And of course she knows it, so she simply gives me a reassuring nod and dissappears. The crazy thought that she might be the future me gives me a delirious hope that maybe she knows that everything is going to be alright, and I’ll see him again.  
-T-Rex, you there? - I suddenly hear what George seems to be saying for the last couple of minutes.  
\- I got you. Do what needs to be done, but just be careful, okay?  
-okay, Teresa... Thank you... - hearing something like this from George throws me off of guard, but he quickly brings me back, - and Don’t worry, boss, your smart, brave and hot knights will be alright. Although if your pretty boy falls victim to my charm, beauty and incredibly rich multidimensional personality, please, forgive me in advance, that’s both a gift and a curse of mine. And he was the one insisting on sharing the motel room, - despite all the implications he actually makes me chuckle quietly rolling my eyes. Which, I bet, mirrors the reaction James might be having. I hear George softly says:”there you go” probably as a reaction to my chuckle when I say:  
-Can you give James a phone? - I don’t even know what I’ll say to him or whether I’ll be able to tell anything, this plead just slips my tongue because I seem to be needing to hear anything from him, even the soft breathing at the other end of the line.  
-he..he’s just left, pumpkin,but I’m sure you’ll be able to reach him in couple of minutes...- has he “just left”? Or has he, once again been avoiding me? I was too afraid to find out the answer so I decided not to fish for the truth from George or try to contact him later. I just say goodbye and hang up.  
Going to shower I try my best to relax, clean my head at the same time preparing for what the night might bring.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst...all the way angst  
> If you reading this, I’m sorry but I hope you’ll like it  
> Love!

The soft dim light of the lamp to my right leads me the way and draws shadows on his muscular body. My lips and tongue keep on playing with them, chasing them and making them disappear every time I hit the right spot and he takes a deep breath or his back arches a little bit drowning his chest in soft golden light of the lamp . I’ve been trying to taste every single inch of his torso, shoulders and chest since the moment we finally reached my room and fell on my bed. The moment my lips reach just below his bellybutton his hand in my hair slightly pushes me up and straight to his lips, he groans: “you’re killing me” and presses his lips to mine. I slide my fingers and palms up and down his sides, feeling him trembling a little bit and biting my lip in return. It’s only a moment before I realize that the wetness beneath my hands is too slippery to be sweat. I hear him groan when I break the kiss to look at his side. The dark, almost black liquid seems to pour from everywhere, every inch I kissed mere seconds ago. I try to cover the wound, but I can’t find it anywhere, white sheets soak burgundy liquid, much like every single inch of my body. I feel it even on the ends of my hair, on my face, mixed up with streaming tears, everywhere. I scream his name over and over again, but I can only hear him groaning. The body I’ve been giving so much love to getting colder and colder. I feel freezing and shaking, screaming but unable to breath.   
I wake up choking. My sheets as well as my pajamas and my hair are soaked with my cold sweat, but all too familiar light of the lamp to my right still makes me believe it’s James’ blood all over me. I fall from the bed still unable to catch my breath and untangle from soaking cold sheets. I dive right into the panic attack fighting the sheet and knocking over the lamp still trying to get rid of something clenching my throat. Lights go out and my panic increases. I don’t hear Pote knocking, calling my name or running to me. I just feel his arms that I try to fight at first, I feel the way he locks them around my shoulders, carefully, trying not to do any more harm. When I start getting back in touch with the reality, feeling the panic backing down a little bit I croak “Out, get me out” and, thankfully Pote understands what I’m trying to say, scoops me up in his arms and takes me downstairs.   
He sets me up on the kitchen isle, too afraid that I might fall from the stool, apparently, places the glass of water in front of me along with some sedative and gets some bandages from the cabinet to his left. I see the blood on my hand and, once again, start to tremble. “It’s yours, you cut yourself with the chip of the lamp you’d broken” I keep reading this mantra when Pote takes my hand and says “don’t look”, putting over some bandages. After sometime of complete silence he suggests me to sleep in his room while he’ll take the couch, but I just shake my head, unable to say anything.  
-you shouldn’t go back to your room in this condition, but you have to get some sleep, Teresita... plus the sedative should help you soon- he says worried.   
-I’ll sleep in his room, - I finally say and he just simply picks me up and, without any questions, gets me to James’ room. He brings me my phone and leaves the light on, leaving me and saying he’ll be right across the hall if I need anything. I see the new message and the name gets me open it almost forgetting about the events of this night.   
At first I struggle to remember when I sent the text: “Just, please, be careful” but then memories start to restore and I vaguely remember feeling like a teenager too afraid to speak, having enough strength to only hit sent and immediately go to bed. His reply is short, but, judging by the time I received it, almost immediate: “you, too”. Feeling the sedatives kick in, I fall into calming and relaxing darkness, burying my nose in his pillowcase.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! Still shocked over the last episode! I loooove what writers are doing so damn much!  
> Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy another two chapters:)  
> Love you!

James’ POV

When I open my eyes at the crack of dawn I can already feel exhaustion hovering over my shoulders . Sleeping these days by itself seems like a big privilege and expecting a calm and relaxing sleep, I know, is just way too much to ask. I've slept, so my body won't shut down due to the exhaustion for at least 20 hours, and that's all I need right now. Because I know too damn well I can't ask for anything else. Not for the absence of dreams, after which I can't get rid of her voice in my head repeating that she can't trust me, that I betrayed her and that I'm a mole or dreams where I still hold her in my arms and everything goes painstakingly well, or dreams where I leave to come back way to soon but still not soon enough and find her hurt... Or dead.  
I can't hope not to dream about her. Neither can I hope to stop thinking about her almost every single minute. I can't hope because deep down I know... I don't want to. Her not trusting me hurts.. It hurts a lot. Way too much for my liking. But it’s too late to fix it. Maybe before Malta, before I found her again, before asking to be a part of her business, her life, before opening like I’d never opened up before to anyone, before kissing her, before tasting it, before waking up in empty bed to find her with Guero in Mexico. Maybe before all of that I could have get rid of her constant presence in my head and in my heart. Or maybe this was impossible since the moment I told Camila that I don’t care about Teresa only to beg her to throw up those bags and save herself only 10 minutes after. Maybe I was doomed since that moment.  
Taking a cold shower and leaving a note for passed out George, I go outside. It’s barely sunrise. Morning chill clears my head a little and, sitting at the dirty plastic table of still closed caffe I pounder over what to do next. There’s no way to kill the General of the state only with the grown up calling himself a king. He might be pissed off enough to give Cortez a well-deserved undoing but him and I are nowhere near the state military force. Let alone with the possibility of having our faces printed in “most wanted” list with Camila Vargas herself in the nearest future.  
Camila is on the run and alliances with her won’t give us anything but more problems. Heads of cartels are playing along to Cortez after seeing what he has done to the Vargas , so no luck there as well. Except.. Pulling my phone out I call in search of nearly the last person with whom I might have associated “help”. Twenty minutes later I get a date with Boaz Jimenez, the fugitive head of Jimenez-Vargas cartel who was off the grid for over a month now, even during his only son murder investigation and funeral.  
After setting a meeting with Boaz I know it’s time to finally call Teresa and give her details about the operation. Three. Five. Six beeps and when seventh hits I know it’s not a paranoia or overprotectiveness. Teresa always answers before seven. Hell, she answers always right away. I stand up from the table to leave god knows where, probably my body decided to run to Phoenix if the eighth beep would come out when I finally get the reply. It’s three or four seconds of complete silence even though I repeat her name what feels like hundred of times when at last, Pote replies:  
-James, - And it’s my turn to get silent and, much to my surprise, he seems to decide to take it easy for me and continues:  
-Teresa... she didn’t feel well last night. I gave her some sleeping pills, she’s still out. How’s everything? Should I... should I wake her up? - even though the clear message that she’s in no danger kinda calms me down, the thought of her being in the dark place gives me more chills than a morning cold.  
It’s nightmares, again. It has to be nightmares. I had to barge into her room several times before to find her trashing in bed, unable to get rid of sleep itself or its after-shakes. She had one when I just needed to reach out my arm a little bit and hold her tighter against my chest and not run to her room from across the hall. That was one of the quickest times we got rid of it. She never told me what they were about, but I heard how she screamed: mom, dad, Brenda or Guero so I figured she was reliving her loved ones loss over and over again. Although it was never so strong to be needing sleeping pills. It was messy when I calmed her, it was messy when I was finding her in Pote’s embrace , it was always difficult, but it was more or less controlled. Absentmindedly I wonder what got her to lose it so hard and even more absentmindedly try to come up with solution that would guarantee some peace of mind for her preferably without any sort of drugs.  
-no, no need to wake her. I’ve set a meeting with Boaz Jimenez, George and I leave in half an hour to meet him and discuss possible alliances. After all Cortez killed Boaz’s son and took everything from him. And he still has some influence and, surprisingly, friends over here. This might be our best... - I stop when I hear ruffles on the other end and then her, saying hoarsely:  
-Is that James? - worry overtake me so I almost miss Pote’s worried “your hand still bleeding?” and her really quiet, probably for nobody’s ears but Pote: “no, it’s from before, stained the pillow case as well.” I probably should feel left out hearing everything but not being directly addressed or acknowledged but I can’t help but feel completely opposite. I know she wouldn’t tell any of this if she didn’t want to, and her whisper says that she doesn’t want anyone in the house to know. Somewhere in the back of my head a tiny sarcastic voice tells me that I’m making up those things to make myself believe that they trust me, but I’m way too tired and worried to deal with this right now.  
“Need help to change sheets and pillowcases?” I hear Pote say and for a second I let myself relax imagining myself there in the kitchen with them, preparing a sassy one-liner for Mami Pote, smiling and just being home.  
-no! Don’t change it, - Teresa reacts a bit too loud compared to before, but before I have a second to wonder about it, I hear her voice right in my ear.  
-James? How’s everything? - I snap back to business knowing too damn well that discussing anything but business while being separated by the state frontier and still way too raw emotions is not the best strategy.


	6. Chapter 6

Teresa’s POV

 

His voice is cold and business-like which makes much desired hearing him less calming and more painful. I heard Pote telling him about last night, so not hearing at least a slightest bit of calming, loving and so James-like concern reminds me of what I done and what it may cost me.If I knew this was what I would get from him, I would have never left the comfort of his bed. There, in blissful state of being half asleep, with his light duvet almost hovering over my body, touching my bare legs ever so slightly here and there, I could have stayed, imagining it’s his fingers hovering across my skin, lightly grazing up and down my legs and his lips stealing some not so chaste kisses in his own curious pattern. There I could have stayed, drowning in his scent instead of my worry and panic, just imagining he had just went out to grab something to eat for the both of us, that he is not out there trying to kill the general of Sinaloa all by himself, still being deeply hurt by my actions and words.

The trace of blood my cut palm left on his pillowcase woke me up to the reality and got me to face the truth that wasn’t pretty at all. I couldn’t stay there. I can’t pretend that nothing happened. I can’t escape the truth. I might had a pills induced relatively calm night but it can’t go on like this. My nightmares for a while now had him as a main focus. They could have started with my parents, or Guero, or Brenda, but it finished almost always with his blood covering me. Sometimes I screamed to not to take him with them and away from me. I was losing him every damn night. And when I opened my eyes to find myself in his embrace, I recovered relatively well. I didn’t need pills, I didn’t hurt myself, I never lost a touch with reality. And now...now I’m losing him in the reality as well. But here, in reality, away from fantasies of his hands and lips, I know I have more control. Here, I can change the way things are and have the opportunity to tell him everything. To let him know. And this moment I know I can save him. Because he is my priority.

My mind buzzing with ideas how to get things fixed with El Santo and George minions as fast as possible and be able to go to Mexico while not engaging them in the crossfire when he tells me about his meeting with Boaz knocking the ground from my feet.

-No, don’t do that, - are only words coming out of my mouth.

-Teresa this is our best shot... - he tries to reason with me, but my panic has reached the level when for a moment I forget about tiptoeing around our trust issues.

-James, Taza’s man confirmed that Camila currently with Boaz. This might be a trap.

-Camila is no threat. She wants Cortez out as much as we do. And she is no threat to you. Not through us. Technically I’m working for George now so there’s no way to use it against you... - his final words bring out the anger in me I haven’t felt before. How can he say that? Despite everything that happened between us he had to know that this is different. That for a while now him being anywhere in the world means wearing target on his back. And it’s mostly my fault. But of course he keeps on talking about my safety first. And make it sound like I care about my safety first. Camila’s comments about my relationships with James start to resurface sending chills to my boiled anger inside.

-You being anywhere near Camila or Cortez without proper backup  a way to use it against me,- I snap and see Pote’s worried glance in the doorway. James falls silent, I feel the fight he’s having right now, feelings still too raw to fully trust my words. And his vulnerable position gives me strength to finally explain him at least some of my feelings.

-you being there _is_ a threat to me. You being in danger _is_ a threat to me. And I’d really appreciate if you’d stop behaving like your life means nothing. I know I messed up and I can’t  emphasize how sorry I am but it doesn’t mean you’ve ever been disposable to me or that I’m not scared as hell for you right now, - I see Pote’s shocked face and for a moment I wonder how James looks like right now. It’s the most I’ve ever said to him recently and those words were only barely scratching the surface of what I really wanted to tell him. And I know he feels it too. I hear him taking a deep breath and then, he finally speaks:

-This is not about it, Teresa, I promise. This really is our best shot. We need to take down Cortez to get George out of here. As soon as Cortez’s down, we will go back. I promise, I’ll keep my eye on Camila if she’s really with Boaz and I’ll keep you posted, - and I hear it in his voice, it’s softer, almost like before, like nothing happened. He knows but I still repeat it, because he has to hear it

-It’s not about distrust James, I’m just, I can’t lose...-words seem to be lost again and I feel the lump in my throat remembering the events of my recent nightmare.

-it’s going to be alright, I promise, you won’t. I know it’s not about it, - his voice is raw and full of promise which reminds me of how he used to calm me down after my nightmares saying similar things and give my lungs much needed breath along with them. He leaves no place for further discussion because we both know he’s right. I whisper: “okay” suddenly too tired to carry out this conversation with him so far away.

-Take some rest, Teresa, - with these words my insides melt but at the same time my brain gets a reload of energy out of his words. That’s all I need to get myself in shape in order to fix all this mess. I need reassurance that I still have him, that I didn’t lose the only one who makes me feel truly alive, that I still have something to fight for.

 


End file.
